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Oh, Muni, I Love You So Much!

Dear Muni,

We’ve come a long way together, baby. From the days
when you used to run me from the Mission to the FiDi and back, through
our brief estrangement while I experimented with your younger brother,
BART (he meant nothing to me – I swear) to our reconciliation over
late nights on the N-Judah. Now we’ve reached the stable stage of
our relationship – I know your ins and outs, your quirks, and what
makes you tick.

Granted, you aren't perfect. Sometimes it takes you a while to get ready. Occasionally you're not entirely honest with me, and every now and then, you have a complete meltdown.

Lord knows
there have been times when I thought I was done with you, but let’s
be honest – I can’t imagine life without you. I know you may be
worried about all the sleek-looking younger models out there trying
to get my attention. Don’t worry, baby, you’re still the one for
me. Muni, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

One, your style. You’ve got a certain timeless look
that can’t be beat. No one else could pull off your classic color
scheme of brown, orange, and two more shades of brown. Like a pixie
haircut, it only works for a select few, but when it does, it’s a
knockout. And that logo? Pure class. It recalls Lombard Street’s twists,
the city’s hills, and your own accordion busses. Like anything truly
iconic, that design has never gone out of fashion; it’s just gone
unappreciated at times. Name another city where people rock their local
public transportation logo on everything from hats to hoodies to hot
pants.

Two, you make me laugh.

"I saw the craziest thing on the Google bus the other day," said no one ever.

Being with you
is never dull, and that shared experience is like when my crazy uncle
shows up unexpectedly to Thanksgiving dinner, and I finally start talking
to the cousins I have nothing else in common with. Muni, I love your
stories. From the tale of the guy giving impromptu lectures on the proper
way to raise root vegetables to the one about a dude attacking people
with his prosthetic leg, you always give me something to laugh about
and share with my friends; thanks for that.

Three, I love your family of drivers. I know that
you just aren’t you without them, and they deserve credit for making
you what you are. There’s a reason why so many people in this city
don’t drive –

Navigating the streets is a colossal bitch, yet these people do it all day, every day, while also doubling as a tour guide for wayward Europeans and as orderlies/guards for a mobile psych ward/drunk tank.

I’ve watched a mother and child wait at the corner of Haight
and Fillmore just to hop on and give their daddy, the driver, a kiss
as he came by in the morning. I’ve watched them break up fights while
simultaneously navigating Van Ness at rush hour. These drivers serve
all of us, including the lowest of the low, and they do it with fairness,
professionalism, and civility in the face of what has got to be the
most relentless onslaught of weirdness ever visited on a group of humans.
(Seriously, people, if you don’t thank your driver every time you
get off the bus, you should.)

Four, you make me a better man. I’ve learned so
much from you. Thanks to you, I have developed Shaolin monk–like levels
of concentration and balance that enable me to read a book while tuning
out a drunken rendition of “Amazing Grace,” the latest scandal at
Galileo Academy, and the agenda for tomorrow’s power lunch. I can
still stay on my feet despite stops that make me feel like I’ve been
shot from a cannon directly into the razor-sharp elbows of an Asian
grandmother. You never fail to remind me to be vigilant and also to
respect my elders. You also teach me not to judge a book by its cover.

I love playing "who's going to give up the seat?" whenever a pregnant lady gets on.

As often as not, it’s the big dude who demonstrates
his civic spirit (although maybe it’s not that surprising – he may
think he’s performing a public service by making sure everyone else
on the bus is fully aware of the latest Pitbull track).

Most importantly, you’ve taught me not to be a self-entitled
douche. The people who piss and moan about your being late are often
the same ones who expect you to stop and wait just for them when they
lag. You’ve taught me that the city belongs to all of us, including
the crazies and the tourists and the people who still haven’t learned
that cell phones mean you don’t actually have to shout loud enough
for the person on the other end to be able to hear you with the naked
ear from across town.

You've taught me to budget a little extra time for the unexpected - and if that fails, and I'm somehow late to work, I can always roll my eyes at my boss and sign, "Muni." He knows you, and he understands.

(which may have gotten
me out of trouble even when it wasn’t your fault, so I owe you for
that too).

Like any relationship, Muni, ours has had its share
of problems, and while I may not agree with everything you do, your
heart is always in the right place, and you genuinely have my best interests
in mind. For that, I’ll gladly put up with your occasional temper
tantrums or the days when you’re feeling your age. I know you’ll
be there for me…eventually.

Love Logan

Want to take one of these sweet Muni embroideries home with you? Alice Wiese hand stitched Muni Love and Bus Transfer, they are available in our shop.